


here's to us, baby

by Shamandalie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, FC Bayern München, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamandalie/pseuds/Shamandalie
Summary: Sometimes, it felt like the despair was flooding all of his senses - he could taste its bitterness on his tongue, hear its shallow breathing, feel the heart pumping painfully in his chest.





	here's to us, baby

The only thing audible was his breathing. The baby lay on his chest, sleeping peacefully, its chest rising and falling down. He could see the movement, and the outline of his daughter's tiny body, but it was her warmth that reassured him she was completely fine and safe. He should have put her back in her crib; he should have returned to their bed.  
Those were the dead hours of the night - no human should be awake during them, for they awoke the primal fears and could put a man's mind on the edge.  
But recently, it seemed that he was on the edge constantly. His mind never rested, not even during sleep. Only when he lay with his daughter on his chest, after tending to her needs, watching her fall back asleep...only then he felt a bit at peace with the world.  
This little human, she had a whole life ahead of her. And she would be happy, he knew that, because he was going to be right next to her and support her. Give her comfort.  
So he knew he had to stay where he was. He should try and fight his demons.  
It was just....hard.  
He was perfectly happy on the outside. Happy and successful, making his after-football career work better than he ever expected it to work.  
But it wasn't it.  
He missed it all - the trainings, the matches, the tight schedule, the adrenaline rush, the irreplaceable feeling of companionship. He felt like maybe for years he was on the best high of his life, and now that he came off it, he could no longer function properly.  
But at this point, he knew that he should've gotten over this feeling a long time ago.  
But he didn't.  
Because now he didn't have an explanation as to why he couldn't be himself. Then, it was always football. His career was at stake, at the environment was as hostile as ever.  
But all the steps he took to appear 'normal', the personal life he created just for the sake of his career...was the only life he had now.  
And it was good.  
It was enough.  
Or at least that was what he was trying to convince himself of.  
During these long hours in the middle of the night, he would reminisce, and sometimes, it felt like the despair was flooding all of his senses - he could taste its bitterness on his tongue, hear its shallow breathing, feel the heart pumping painfully in his chest.  
Sometimes his daughter's tiny hand would curl up around his sweaty fingers, and the innocence and complete trust of this gesture would always break him.  
Funny thing was, those were happy memories that he recalled.  
Joyful snippets of that one year when he was still a teenager, and he was in love.  
So in love with a boy, whom he truly never stopped loving.  
He remembered how they would set up their meetings, always 'to play football', just to make out in the grass.  
He remembered how Bastian laughed at his oversized leather jacket, how he teased him for being a 'bad boy', but secretly loved it.  
He remembered how he would do both of their math homework while Bastian was lying shirtless on his bed, daydreaming and just waiting to be touched.  
He knew that if he allowed himself to, the dawn would break and he still would be absorbed by memories.  
But he never did allow himself to do that. He couldn't. He knew it would break him.  
So he always remembered to remind himself that it never lasted.  
That they broke up - that he was broken up with. That Bastian pretended for years that they were never a thing.  
He always made himself remember how it was to love, but feel unloved. How it was to need, but not be needed.  
He admired Bastian for letting go so completely. He never could.  
The last thing he would painfully force himself to remember was the anger on Bastian's face when he finally told him.  
He was drunk. Obviously. They were celebrating. Here's to us.  
'You know, I never stopped loving you.'  
At first, it was almost rage. Fury at being reminded of something that you desperately want to forget.  
'God, Philipp. I never loved you in the first place.'  
He never loved you, remember?  
And she did. She does. It's good enough.  
They made this miracle he was holding in his arms. Together.  
He knew Bastian had a child too, now.  
He hoped that he held his son to his chest, and this warm, fuzzy feeling of unconditional love filled him entire.  
He hoped he was happy, and loved, and needed.  
And for himself, he just wished to stop hoping it was him in her place.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm sure real Philipp is happy in his life. I also do not enjoy making him suffer in my fics. I think.
> 
> Hi, I'm back. I also have no idea what am I doing here! I'm currently writing my dissertation and tbh, that's the only thing I should be writing right now. But I've been feeling a little guilty, I guess, about not writing creatively at all...and the academic writing sucks the life out of me...so here I am. I had an idea, thought it was going to be extremely short. It is longer than I expected, but still only a one pager, so. Anyway, you did not come here for the story of my life.
> 
> Unbeta'ed, as always, I wrote it in 40 minutes and it's also after midnight. Might be unreadable.
> 
> I'm philipplahmz on tumblr, I don't really use it tho. (2012/2013 me is shook.)


End file.
